The Orange Tree

by Martin Ganzglass

  “Maybe,” Judy interrupted softly, “Aunt Helen’s day is the same with or without the feeding tube.”

  Amina looked at her and shrugged hopelessly. “I cannot change your decision but it is God’s will, not ours which decides our fate. The Prophet Mohamed, (peace be upon Him) has given us the word of Allah in the Holy Koran. I will include Helen in all my prayers. I will pray most fervently that she should live. I will do my best to keep her comfortable and I will make sure she is not suffering. And I will pray for you and your family.”

  “Thank you, Amina,” Mitch said not knowing whether he should or could embrace her. Judy resolved his awkwardness by hugging Amina, the two women, locked together, rocking back and forth at Aunt Helen’s bedside, neither letting go of the other for a long time. Amina patted Judy on the back and his sister let her arms fall to her sides.

  “I will come again in the early afternoon,” Amina said.

  “What do you think Aunt Helen did to touch Amina so?” Mitch asked his sister, as they sat on the bed looking at their frail aunt. “I mean, she wasn’t coherent that often this past year. What could she have said? What kind of conversations did they have?” Sadly, he realized that if he had spent more time with her, he too might have been blessed with whatever she had said or done to bond with Amina. “I should have been here more for her,” he said regretfully.

  “Now don’t you go down that road, Mitch,” Molly said, overhearing his remark as she came into the room. “You and Ell and the whole family were terrific. How are you two bearing up?”

  “It’s tough but we’re managing.” Mitch decided not to mention Amina’s visit. “All we can do is reminisce about her and what she meant to us as we were growing up.” He reached for Helen’s hand under the blanket. “And wait.”

  “It’s good that the two of you are here together, sitting on the bed with Helen. It makes the waiting easier.” Molly smiled sympathetically at both of them. “It also helps with the stories. One remembers something and then the other something else and pretty soon you’re even laughing about an incident. Think of those times.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” Mitch said, not really feeling that he would laugh anytime soon.

  “Izzy knew about the feeding tube being withdrawn. I’m not sure how he found out. He asked me if I thought it would be an intrusion if he came up to visit. Would it?”

  “No. Not at all. He’s a dear old man,” Judy replied.

  “I’ll let him know,” Molly said from the doorway. “And call me if you need anything or just want to talk.”

  “You feel like reminiscing?” Judy asked, with a hint of a mischievous smile on her face. Mitch smiled back. “I don’t mind talking. Most of my memories of Aunt Helen are of her visiting mom and pop when I was growing up. Then there is this huge gap. In the next scene, I’m married to Ell, we’ve got two kids and we’re just driving through New London. What happened to the years in between?”

  “Time flies,” Judy said. “We had our own lives, raising our own families. We rarely saw Aunt Helen, except for the times when she visited mom and pop for their anniversary or birthdays, when we were there too.”

  “Were you still living at home when she dropped the strawberry shortcake coming in the door?”

  “I don’t remember it,” Judy said. “I may have been married by then.”

  “Well, she rang the bell, mom opened the door to the apartment, and somehow, loaded down with everything, the hat box, her accounts, stuff from the deli, Aunt Helen dropped this cake box. It flipped over and plopped right in front of mom’s feet. Aunt Helen handed mom the hat box and the other packages, bent down and picked up the cake and announced, “I brought you an upside down strawberry shortcake.”

  Mitch smiled, seeing the whole episode in his mind. Judy grinned back at him. “Are we having a Jewish Irish Wake experience?” she asked. “You know where everyone tells funny stories about good old so and so, drinks to her memory and feels good? Because, I’m not feeling good yet.”

  “That’s because Aunt Helen is still with us,” he said, holding on to their aunt’s hand. “I sure hope the hospice worker is right, that she hears the sounds of familiar voices.”

  “Me too,” Judy said. “I want her to know we’re here with her, that she’s not alone.” She nudged her brother’s elbow. “Mitch, for lunch. Let’s bring the food up and eat in the room with her. Not that she’s going to die while we’re gone. I don’t want her not to hear us, even for a little while.” Mitch nodded, thinking of past lunches with Aunt Helen in the cafeteria, the noise of her slurping her coffee at the end of the meal, her smacking her lips together when she liked the way something tasted. And the tissues, always ready, tucked into her sleeves or belt.

  When he returned with their lunch on a tray, he heard Judy singing. His sister always had been musical. She still played the piano. He recognized the tune before he could distinguish the words- “To Everything There is a Season.” She smiled wanly at him and continued, tears running down her cheeks, sitting on the bed singing to Aunt Helen, keeping the tune despite Mozart in the background. She held the notes of the last line, “and a time for every purpose under Heaven,” until it was no more than a whispered echo.

  “Very nice, Judy” was all he could say. He was overwhelmed by the poignancy and peacefulness of the moment. It was like a carefully composed, impressionist painting of light and shadows. Their aunt, in the harsh fluorescent light, pale and barely a bulge under the white blanket tightly tucked around her, his sister, healthy and robust looking, with the warm colors of the room behind her, leaning toward their aunt, as if her proximity could infuse Helen with life.

  By late afternoon, with much driving back and forth, the family was crowded together in Aunt Helen’s small room. Mitch had picked up Amy and Josh from school. He had explained to them, with the feeding tube removed, the doctors expected Aunt Helen to last another day or two. She wasn’t going to die immediately but it would be good if everyone had a chance, in their own way, to say goodbye to her. Josh had nodded somberly. Amy had fought back tears, compressing her lips together to stifle sobbing outright.

  Ell had left work early and taken the Red Line to Silver Spring, walked to her mother’s apartment and driven Helga in her Buick to the Home. His mother-in-law had insisted that she wanted to come but adamantly refused to drive by herself.

  He had asked Molly for extra chairs. She had sent a maintenance man up to the room with four hard-backed black plastic chairs, like the ones used for the Ellington School Concert. That seemed like years ago. Aunt Helen had been so concerned about Senator Ribicoff attending. And then she had taken the boy’s violin. He wished she was still like that, unpredictable, living in her own world, worried about anti-Semites attacking their neighborhood, but alive and responsive.

  The chairs were arranged around the foot of Helen’s bed. Helga, smartly dressed as usual in one of her dark suits, was on the far left, next to Eleanor and Amy and then Josh. Judy was in her usual place on the side of the bed and Mitch leaned against the arm of the wide backed chair, tired of sitting for most of the day. Some Mozart horn piece was softly playing in the background, barely audible to him over the different subdued conversations. Judy, talking loudly across Aunt Helen, was explaining to his mother-in-law exactly what her job entailed in Charlotte. Josh was telling his mother about something that had happened in school. Mitch could see Amy was distraught.

  “Come here and sit by me, sweetheart.” Amy curled her legs under her in the armchair.

  “This is sooo wrong,” she hissed. “Poor Aunt Helen. She’s dying and no one is paying any attention to her.”

  “It’s ok. She’s hearing human voices, our voices. The social worker said it’s comforting for her.”

  “Do you really believe that daddy?” Amy said angrily. “That Aunt Helen is comforted by hearing Josh talk about his silly book report, or Aunt Judy talking to Grandma about her townhouse in Charlotte and how she walks to work?”

  He put his a
rms around his daughter’s shoulders, caught Ell’s concerned look and shook his head. He kissed the top of Amy’s head. “Yeah, I do. When we visited Aunt Helen, remember sometimes how she seemed out of it, lost somewhere on her own.” Amy uncoiled slightly and nodded. “And we would sit there talking about things in our lives, and then she seemed to snap out of it, look at us and smile. She was just so happy that her family was there with her. It’s the same now.”

  He kissed the top of her head again, smiling to himself because their daughter was blessed with Eleanor’s thick, lush hair instead of his. “Amy. Aunt Helen’s in a coma, off in her own world. But she can hear us and knows, somewhere deep inside where she is conscious, that her family, you, me, mom, Josh, Aunt Judy, all of us who love her, are here in this room.” He started, realizing that he had left out Helga. He hoped Amy hadn’t noticed.

  His daughter sniffled. Mitch took his handkerchief from his back pocket, noticed that it was crumpled and looked used. He offered it to Amy anyway. His usually fastidious daughter took it without objection and blew her nose.

  “Thanks daddy.” She leaned back in the chair, still sniffling. “I can’t say goodbye to her like this, with everyone around. Just talking about nothing, even if it helps Aunt Helen. Can I say goodbye to her alone. By myself?”

  Mitch looked down into Amy’s face and saw his mother. It was the eyes and the way her eyebrows sat, small and slightly curved, without any artificial coaxing. “Sure you can sweetheart. Let’s just wait for the right moment. You ok?” She nodded and curled more tightly into the chair, watching the EKG monitor behind the bed. “I want to talk to your mom for a minute.” He motioned to Ell with his head.

  “Is something wrong with Amy?” Eleanor asked, leaning against him in the hall.

  “No. She’s just very emotional about this. It’s understandable. She wants to say goodbye to Aunt Helen alone. I told her it’s ok.”

  Eleanor thought for a moment. “Ever since that interview, Amy bonded with Helen, more than I ever would have thought. These oranges are like a talisman for her, like she’s channeling your maternal line. Do you really think it’s a good idea for her to be alone in there?”

  “I think it would be more traumatic for her if she didn’t have her private moment to say goodbye. Aunt Helen’s not dying now anyway. It’ll be another day or two, probably tomorrow.”

  “What about Josh? We have to offer him the same chance.”

  “Yeah, we will. My guess is he won’t do it. He’ll say goodbye in his own way with us in the room. I’ll talk to him.”

  They went back in the room, Eleanor letting go of his hand once inside the door. Mitch went over to Josh and whispered in his ear. His son followed him into the hall. He knew his son. Josh wanted to say goodbye to Aunt Helen when they were ready to leave. He didn’t care if anyone heard what he had to say.

  Around 5:30 Amina showed up to change the IV bag. They all stepped out of Helen’s room, more to stretch their legs and for a change the atmosphere than out of modesty. When they returned Amina was rubbing cream on Aunt Helen’s face, taking her time, moving from the forehead, down around the corners of the eyes, then the eyelids, cheeks, chin and neck. Mitch watched Amina’s hands, her long fingers conveying a gentle caring. They remained standing around the bed. Eleanor broke the silence. “Amy. Josh. We have to go soon. Let’s say goodbye for now, and daddy and Aunt Judy will come back after dinner. Ok.”

  Josh moved to the head of the bed, his hands in his pockets. Mitch could see him nervously picking at his fingers through the pants fabric. “Goodbye Aunt Helen. I love you,” he said quickly. He backed away from the bed. Helga simply said goodnight and God Bless You, followed by Eleanor. Judy bent down and kissed Helen’s forehead. She whispered something Mitch didn’t hear. Mitch looked down at his aunt’s face, kissed her on the cheek, faintly tasting the moisturizing cream. He squeezed Amy’s shoulder, who looked like she was about to cry, and left. Amina followed him out.

  “Our daughter wants to be alone with Aunt Helen,” he explained to Amina.

  “Amy has a good heart,” Amina replied. “My daughter, Mariam, thinks so too.”

  Mitch left Eleanor and Amina talking about the girls. He gave Josh permission to visit with Izzy and told him to wait for them in the lobby, if Izzy went to the cafeteria for dinner. He stretched his shoulders. “Boy, I’m stiff,” he said to Judy, as he arched his back. “Too much standing.”

  He was aware of several things happening almost simultaneously. Later, he realized they had been sequential. There was a high pitched continuous beep. He saw Amina jerk her head up and turn toward Helen’s room at the same time he heard Amy’s elongated anguished call, “Daddy, Daddy.” He was closer to the door and rushed into the room just before Amina. Amy was standing with her hands on her cheeks, still screaming for him, her eyes on Aunt Helen. The screen of the monitor, emitting the piercing beep, showed a level line instead of the usual graph of peaks and valleys. He wrapped his arms around Amy as she turned into his chest.

  “I was talking to her. Right there. She, she…” Amy stammered, “she just died. I saw it Daddy. I saw Aunt Helen die,” she sobbed. Eleanor reached around her husband’s arms and stroked Amy’s hair, shielding her from seeing Aunt Helen’s body. Mitch was aware of the music. His daughter had recorded a Mozart Mass without knowing what it was. The choral music swelled to a crescendo, the chorus singing Gloria accompanied by a full orchestra. He hurried over to the Bose and turned it off, thinking of the incongruity of Aunt Helen being sent heavenward from a Hebrew Home by a Catholic Mass.

  Eleanor walked Amy, still sobbing into the hall, unsuccessfully trying to soothe her. She shook her head as Mitch mouthed the words, ‘what should I do?’

  Judy gently held took Amy from Eleanor. “Amy,” she said softly. “Amy look at me. The last words Aunt Helen heard were from you, her grandniece, telling her how much you loved her, how much you’d miss her, how you would always remember her.”

  Amy sobbed. “That’s what I was telling her.” How did you know?” she said between sniffling.

  “Because that’s what I told my mother. When I was at her bedside. When she was dying. It’s a blessing you will always have with you, Amy. Believe me, it’s a comforting thought when you feel the loss so badly you don’t think you can bear it.”

  Mitch listened to Judy, feeling tremendous sadness, not knowing whether it was for their aunt who had just died or the memories of their mother who had died so many years ago. It had been before either of their children had been born. Lillian had never known Amy or Josh. She could have given so much to give their children. Well, he sighed, Aunt Helen had helped them to know his mother. And that was indeed a blessing.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Friday was one of those clear, mild days between Labor Day and the end of September. It was a relief after the long hazy, hot and humid weather of July and August. Not quite yet fall, but definitely no longer summer.

  Mitch was comfortable wearing just his dark blue suit. Eleanor tightened his tie for him as Judy took one last look at Aunt Helen, before the funeral home attendant closed her coffin. The three of them had identified the body together. Someone had to do it. Mitch felt it was more appropriate for all of them to be in the room, he and Judy because they were Helen’s niece and nephew, and Eleanor because he and his wife simply gave each other strength. Amy and Josh were in the main chapel of the funeral home, with their grandmother and Izzy.

  Rabbi Silver had agreed to conduct the service at the funeral home. There weren’t enough people to justify using Memorial Hall at the Synagogue. Some of the people Mitch worked with at DOL, a few from Ell’s office, their neighbors, Alan and Joan, and the family, he and Ell, Judy, Josh, Amy and Helga. Molly and Amina came and brought Izzy. That was it. Together, this Friday morning, they barely filled the first few rows of the small chapel.

  Rabbi Silver knew more about Aunt Helen from Amy than from Mitch. The Rabbi had met with her before the service. After the blessing and g
eneral statements about death and mourning, he incorporated in his description of Helen’s life on earth, much of what Amy had told him about Helen’s mother, their emigration from Poland and Helen’s relationship with her sister. He described it as a hard, brave life, blessed in the end to be surrounded by her family, her sister’s children and her sister’s children’s children, mentioning Amy and Josh by name. He noted that next week was Rosh Hashanah and one of the prayers refers to it being written on the New Year and sealed on Yom Kippur, “who shall live and who shall die, who shall live to see ripe age and who shall not.”

  “Hinda Malka Plonsker lived her life mostly alone. She lived to see that ripe age, in the loving presence of her family. She died no longer alone and she is not alone now. We will now recite the traditional mourner’s kaddish,” Rabbi Silver intoned. “I understand the Funeral Home has distributed plastic cards with the kaddish in Hebrew and phonetically in English. Please read along with me.”

  The funeral cortege to Parklawn Cemetery was pathetically short, Mitch thought, if one measured the importance of the deceased by the number of cars. The hearse was the lead vehicle. Mitch followed with Judy, Amina and Izzy. Molly had to go back to the Nursing Home. Eleanor drove with her mother and Amy and Josh. The Rabbi was by himself in his own car.

  The four cars managed to make the green left turn arrow together from Connecticut to Viers Mill Road. The short procession drove past the Korean Korners supermarket on the right, the little Hispanic mall on the left with its panaderia, Pollo Dorado and El Amigo Mercado, and turned left at the soccer field and on to the narrow one and a half lane entrance to Park Lawn Memorial Cemetery. The hearse led them past the wooden sign directing funeral corteges to wait there. Theirs was too small. They drove by several large sloping fields, with small white crosses, dotted with occasional bouquets of flowers.